


Ikigai

by star_child



Series: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Self-Harm, Sex, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12915627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: (ee-kee-GUY-yee)a japanese concept meaning “the reason for being.”





	Ikigai

**Author's Note:**

> kei doesn't know what to live for
> 
> ((this is a v small side piece to smth larger that i'm writing, a bit of prequel, in which kei's grandparents on his dad's side are german. there's a couple german words in this that i straight copied and pasted from google translate so
> 
> oma and opa - grandma and grandpa
> 
> vielen dank - thank you very much
> 
> schätzchen - honey, love, sweetheart))

He is thirteen years old the first time a high schooler offers him a cigarette.

It’s a girl with dyed red hair and a black surgical mask hanging around her neck, leaning against the dirty, smudged brick of a corner store. Her jeans are the same dirty, smudged red as the wall, her too-big hoodie and shoes the same black as her mask. She stops him because he looks angry.

“I’m not angry,” Kei tells her. And he’s not.

“What are you, then?”

He pauses, categorizing the pounding in his temples and naming the ache in his spine. “I’m tired.”

“Come here,” she says, “This will relax you.”

Gray smoke dips shallowly into his lungs, just enough to burn. Just enough to make him want more.

“My name is Kiken.”

* * *

He is fourteen years old when cigarettes lose their burn. He sucks down as much smoke as he possibly can, burns at least a centimeter off in a single hit and holds it. It feels like nothing.

Angrily, he rips the cigarette from between his lips. There has to be another way to use these, another way these can wash away his numbness.

The stars watch him as he stares at the tip of it, dulling from bright orange back to a docile monochrome. It’s still just as hot, he knows, despite the cool colors.

Still hot.

Hot.

It’s warm out despite the late hour, and he’s supposed to wake up for school in a few hours. Holding out his bare arm, Kei inspects it, the smooth cream skin running from his wrist to his elbow. Gently, slowly, he presses the tip of the cigarette to the inside of his elbow, perfectly centered.

He is fourteen years old when cigarettes regain their burn.

* * *

“Where’ve you been all day, Moon?”

Kei glares. “I told you not to call me that.”

Half hidden by the alley shadows, the blue haired boy shrugs back in exasperation. “You told me not to call you by your name, either. The hell am I supposed to call you?”

“Nothing. Don’t talk to me.”

Higher pitched, more sing-songy and teasing, “For someone who doesn’t want us to talk to him, you keep showing up.” A girl seems to melt out of the wall on the boy’s other side, dressed in a burgundy sweater and ripped black tights. It’s Kiken. The makeup around her eyes makes them look like black holes.

Kei scowls. “We don’t come here to talk.”

“Speak for yourself,” another boy chimes in. This one has normal black hair, and he’s nearly indistinguishable from the boxes he’s seated amongst.

“What do you want, then, Blondie?” the first boy asks. Kei thinks his name is Koukatsu, knows he’s a second year, making him one grade above him. He doesn’t know his birthday or his family name, his favorite song or where he goes to school, but he knows other things about him.

Knows where to bite to make his toes curl, how to bend his fingers just right and the exact way to arch his back in order to make it end quick.

 

With Koukatsu, it’s fucking.

On his elbows and knees, he presses his forehead to the smokey pillow and bites down on a gasp, moulding his spine to the dips of the chest above him. The mouth by his ear huffs heavy breaths, and Kei has just parted his lips when teeth clamp down on the skin behind his ear.

He cries out, strangled and desperate and oh so eager to press his throat into the fingers that find it. His head is yanked back so his neck is free, long and smooth and aching. Koukatsu’s fingertips dig into his windpipe and he soars.

* * *

He’ll be at school all day.

At fifteen years old the world is painted in hollow shades of gray. Bleary sunlight fights its way into his room as he wakes to his alarm, sits up like his bones are mechanical. His joints are stiff as he dresses, brushes his teeth, grabs his bag.

“It’s Thursday,” his mother reminds him when he goes downstairs. He pretends to look through the cabinets as he nods. “We’re having dinner with  _ Oma  _ and  _ Opa.” _

Oh. He forgot it was Thursday. “Okay.”

Closing the cabinets, he wishes her a good day with his monochrome voice and pulls out his phone, heading out the front door.

To: Kiken  
7:58 am  
_Busy tonight. Tomorrow?_

From: Kiken  
12:51 pm  
_kk_

 

With Kiken, it’s almost like art.

He’s not dumb enough to call it making love, but he imagines the motions aren’t much different. Kiken’s nearly nineteen by now, and Kei knows he’s nothing more than another face in her bed, and he’s lucky to be there.

Tonight he’s above her, lying between her thighs with his elbows on either side of her head, licking and sucking and biting at the pale arch of her neck. Her hair is teal this season, and it tickles his eyes. He huffs the strands out of his nose and the sound is covered by her moan and suddenly he forgets about her hair, too caught up in her nails digging into his shoulders, raking red down his back, parallel to his spine.

He digs his toes into the mattress and bares down, wrapping his arms under the curve of her spine and feeling her unremoved lacy bra tickle his bare chest. They were in too much of a hurry to take it off, and he gets the feeling Kiken finds a certain amount of satisfaction in getting to wear it.

She grinds her hips up and one hand tangles in his hair, tugging blissfully and for just a moment Kei sees in color. Pleasure flashes neon pink behind his eyelids, the same color as Kiken’s messy eyeshadow. Her hair melts into the blue of her sheets, face seeming to glow yellow satisfaction.

They let out twin cries, muffled into sweaty shoulders, and after Kei throws away his condom and pulls on his clothes, the world fades back to gray.

* * *

He thinks about dying a lot.

Probably too much.

Maybe not enough.

Sitting on a bridge in the twilight, it’s easy to imagine himself pitching forward, falling like a rock through the air until the water crushes the air from his lungs. How easy it would be to let the darkness swallow him, to melt into the current and feel the cold sting of it on his skin.

He lights a cigarette.

* * *

For his sixteenth birthday, his grandparents buy him a DJ controller.

He stares at the box after ripping the paper off, trying to force his normally apathetic features into something at least resembling pleasant. These look expensive, and he’ll admit he’s been watching videos of people working with these.

“Oh, Kei! Those look amazing!” his mother squeals, suddenly at his shoulder with her phone. The flash goes off in his face and he hopes he doesn’t look mad, at least.

“This is the latest model,” his brother adds, studying the box.

_ “Wir hoffen es gefällt euch,” _ his grandfather says.

“We hope you like it,” his father translates.

He nods, eyes skimming over the words at the top of the box.  _ Pioneer DJ DDJ-RB 2-deck rekordbox DJ Controller. _ It’s symmetrical down the middle, a place on either side for a record, buttons for… Well, he doesn’t know yet. But he’s almost excited to find out.

Looking each of his grandparents in the eye, he says,  _ “Vielen dank,” _ in his best German.

* * *

“Hey,” the boy with black hair greets. Kei admires his talent for blending into the shadows.

“Where’s Kiken?” Kei replies. He feels like shit, starting his second year of high school has left him drained and and snappy in the fading summer, and he just wants comfort. Kiken’s soft body and sharp nails and forehead kisses are the closest thing he knows.

The boy shrugs – Kei isn’t even sure what his name is. Koukatsu sometimes calls him Hikari – light – to tease him about hiding in the dark.

“She said she had something to do tonight. Kou should be here soon –“

“I don't want to go with Kou,” Kei says quickly. He’ll almost always go for that, just a hard, fast fuck, but right now he wants to feel like someone almost cares about him. If Kiken isn’t here, this boy is the next best.

 

With Hikari, it’s just sex.

Kei doesn’t know how old he is, hardly knows what he looks like. He dresses in all black, has skin rich enough to blend into the black sheets in his pitch black room. Kei doesn’t know what he’s trying to hide from, but he’s content to let him do it.

They’re all hiding from something, after all.

Hikari is like a halfway point. The masochism that finds him when he’s with Koukatsu is absent, but so is any sense of affection he’d get from Kiken. There’s no emotions with Hikari, one way or the other, just bodies, just instinct, just sex.

Hikari lies on his side, back to Kei with one leg in the air as he thrusts into him, whimpering softly and gripping at his sheets. Kei buries his face in his neck, breathes in warmth and it’s almost enough to patch up the holes in his lungs.

Almost.

* * *

His life falls into a pattern. For the rest of high school, things go like this:

During the week he goes to school, goes home and does his homework, maybe plays with his mixing equipment if he finishes early. He’s getting quite good at it.

He’s always gone before his parents get home from work. Sometimes he fucks Hikari, who is always either already seated among shadows or appears after dark, true to his nature. Sometimes he caves and just sits with him in the alley where they all meet, not talking, but smoking. Hikari does not prefer sex, but he’s willing to compromise with silence.

His nights with Hikari are gray, monotonous, and forgettable.

Sometimes he has almost-dates with Kiken. They’ll eat takeout in silence, or watch a movie, both activities left discarded before their completion to fuck. His nights with Kiken are pale, pleasant, and warm. These are arguably his favorite.

In contender for first place: his weekends with Koukatsu. They’re filthy, primal, all teeth and knuckles and twisting, twisting, twisting. He goes home on Sundays with raw wrists and bruises under scarves, aching and content. Koukatsu is blazing, white hot fire, excruciating and numbing and he can’t get enough.

* * *

He’s startled out of his pattern when his father comes into his room with the mail in his hands.

“Hello,  _ schätzchen _ ,” he says, a wide smile on his face.

Kei eyes him, eyes the stack of mail in his hands. “Hi…”

“You got a letter,” he starts excitedly, and Kei narrows his eyes in confusion. And maybe a little bit of suspicion. Who is sending him letters? The only people he talks to probably don’t even know his family name, let alone where he lives. And they wouldn’t be sending him letters anyway. And his father certainly wouldn’t be excited if they did.

“Who from?” he prompts when his dad just stands in the doorway, smiling.

“A  _ wonderful _ university!” his father gushes, stepping further into the room and waving one of the envelops around. “It’s right in Sendai, and they have a very wide range of programs. I know you don’t really know what you want to study yet, but you could pick anything from here!”

Kei stares, blank. College. College? He hasn’t given a single thought to college yet, not in a way that renders it is as… as  _ something. _ He’s kept it in mind, all this time. School comes first. He can’t do whatever Kou and Kiken and probably not Hikari are doing during the day, he has to go to school. He can’t see them until he’s finished his homework. He has to keep up his grades, he wants to go to college someday, after all.

But he never thought it would actually  _ come. _

“Oh…” he says slowly, sitting up. “Um, I’ll take a look, I guess. Leave it there.”

His father lifts it like a toast, then places it on his desk, leaving with a smile. Kei wants to throw up.

* * *

Finished with his cigarette, Kei pulls up his sleeve, pressing the small stub to his skin and turning it slowly. He’s started to hiss at the burn again. Beside him, Hikari watches in silence.

“Want another?” he offers when the stub is on the ground, no longer smoldering.

“Please.”

He gets halfway through it before he’s ready to talk. “I got… scouted,” he tries, testing the words. “Or… picked. Noticed. I got noticed.”

“By who?”

“A school. In Sendai.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Full ride on tuition.”

Hikari gasps, and Kei remembers why he told himself  _ not  _ to tell Hikari about this.

(But who else could he tell? He and Kiken don’t always fuck, but they don’t talk either. He’s hardly said a word to Kou in years, save for things he’d never repeat outside of his bedroom.)

_ “Full ride?” _ Hikari is gasping, “That’s amazing! What the hell, your grades must be like, perfect!”

Kei rubs his neck, takes another drag. “I guess. It’s cool but like… I don’t know what I’d go for. I don't… enjoy anything.”

Hikari nudges his arm against the bricks. “I can think of a couple things you enjoy.”

“I can’t go to school for screwing. Or smoking.” He flicks the end of his cigarette idly.

“What about drinking?”

“I don’t really drink.”

Hikari sits back. “Pick something then. You can do it all, apparently. D’you like math?”

“No.”

“Science?”

“No.”

“History?”

“No.”

“Reading? Writing?”

“No.”

“Give me something here. Art?”

“Not really.”

“Aha!” Hikari snaps, and for just a second the streetlights illuminate his smile. “That wasn’t a no.”

Kei rolls his eyes. “I  _ like _ art, but I’m not any good at it. I’ve never tried to draw or paint or anything like that. I don’t dance. I don’t act.”

“What about music?”

He thinks of his soundboard at home, how he’s gotten good at making beats and remixes in his spare time. A small smile spreads across his face, and Hikari elbows him once more before falling silent.

* * *

His pattern changes.

During the week he still goes to school, goes home and does his homework, only he puts more effort into it now. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he  _ participates _ in class, but he’s clearly trying harder, putting in more than just the minimum effort for a good grade and then hoping for the best. His grades don’t improve, because frankly they can’t, but now it’s because he wants it.

When his homework is done, he works with his soundboard. Youtube quickly starts recommending him nothing but demo videos, his subscription list filling up with underground producers and aspiring sound design majors.

He still sees Kiken, but it’s dwindled to once or twice a week. She’s unconcerned, filling the time he vacates with others, she’s even occasionally interested in listening to what he’s made.

To Kei’s mild horror, he finds himself spending more time with Hikari. It’s not that he’s ever disliked him, he was just… well, Kei hung out with them for sex, and Hikari always preferred talking.

Now, Kei finds that he almost likes it.

Hikari is  _ interested _ in him, as a person. He’s the first person Kei ever invites back to his own house, and they don’t even fuck. Hikari just lies on his bed for an hour with Kei’s headphones on and listens to the stuff he’s made with his eyes closed.

(And maybe Kei spends the hour staring at him in the light,  _ finally _ seeing what he looks like clearly. He has small lips and a button nose, shaggy hair and thin wrists. Big eyes and short lashes, pierced ears. Kei thinks he might actually be younger than him.)

On the weekends, he still sees Koukatsu. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

Graduation looms ever closer.

* * *

He kind of expected to… _feel_ something.

His parents have left. Kei stands alone in the middle of his dorm room, back to the empty side where his roommate will move in tomorrow morning, facing his own sparse bed and desk. His sheets and blanket are there, tucked up all nice and neat. Underneath, his mixing equipment rests on the chest he brought his clothes in, a pillow beside it so he can sit on the floor and work with it. His desk is organized, the top clear save for a lamp and his laptop.

He begins college in two days, a freshman majoring in sound production. He has an interview in a few days to be a DJ at a local club nearby.

The hole in his chest aches, and he lights a cigarette.


End file.
